


Keepsakes

by Sodium_Azide



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Footnotes, M/M, Podfic Available, Post-Apocalypse, Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:01:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sodium_Azide/pseuds/Sodium_Azide
Summary: Crowley is very curious, and does not know when to stop digging. When one is a kilometer deep into a well-guarded angelic pocket dimension, perhaps it would be wise to refrain from yelling about one's discovery.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 151





	Keepsakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Libbyfay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libbyfay/gifts).



> Based on a prompt from @LibbyFay and their wife.

Similarly to the way a mother of six is unbothered in the face of the latest catastrophe, A.Z. Fell & Co. Purveyor of Fine Books to the Gentry, was a far calmer and more accepting bookshop after its painful incineration by a Witchfinder and subsequent restoration by the Devourer of Worlds. As such, literal demonic shrieking was no longer upsetting to the building or its master.1

“Aziraphale! The books I understood-I get it, pursuit of knowledge, all that jazz. How many things do you hoard?” 

Barely visible over the back of his perfectly comfortable armchair, cotton-fluff hair shifted slightly, then eased out of sight once more as the occupant returned to his book without bothering to reply.

“Angel!”

The shouting was slightly clearer, but he knew exactly how sound carried in the building. Crowley was still safely in the small sitting room2 on the upper floor, meaning he was likely just caterwauling for his own reasons and did not require any encouragement to continue.

“Angel!”

As was incredibly common among bibliophiles, the angel had a huge number of lovely bookmarks that were barely used3, with various bits of scrap paper and receipts being pressed into service when required. He actually had a bookmark on his side table at the moment, however, as it was a very recent gift from the currently-shouting demon and as such had not yet been absorbed into the bookshop’s personal collection. His hand hovered over it, then shifted to trace a finger around the rim of his mug, which immediately began to produce fragrant steam from within. 

“Angel, I swear by all of Manchester’s forsaken real estate, this wardrobe is a kilometer deep at least! What is in all these boxes? Am I about to wander into Narnia? I won’t read those books, angel, now or ever!”

“Just a moment, dear boy.” A gentle sigh, and the angel patted absently for the bookmark before giving up and closing his volume with a mental note of the page number. Cradling his warm mug, he climbed the stairs with the enthusiasm of a salaryman returning to the office after a rainy weekend. 

The amount of dust in the sitting room actually made him give a surprised cough before he remembered to wave his hand and banish it. Crowley was swearing indistinctly from inside the beautiful carved walnut wardrobe. Several boxes had been pulled out and stacked haphazardly outside the open doors, and the demon’s footsteps echoed before he staggered out of the miraculously-expanded wardrobe with a wooden crate, complete with fitted lid, depositing it irritably at the top of a dangerously unbalanced tower. 

“Angel. What the actual Hell. These are actually warded against tampering. What is so blessedly important here that you have made a pocket dimension to hold, which had a password to open? I had to break the glamour before I could even find the doors, and then to have a spoken passcode keeping them locked? That’s downright rude to make your guest have to work that hard to get into your secret storage space. What kind of host are you?” 

“Clearly a terrible host, dear boy, to inconvenience you so with my privacy.”

Crowley froze, apparently just now remembering that the angel held to British politeness with nearly the same fervor as the Gospel. Neither of them liked to mention the 12th century encounter of Aziraphale briskly apologizing for the incipient discomfort to a minor demon just before vaporizing its corporation with divine light.4

A very long moment passed as neither moved. Crowley did not blink or breathe. His hand, still resting on the warded crate, was starting to smoke. 

The angel closed his eyes, then smiled wryly before shaking his head and meeting Crowley’s fixed stare. He nodded at the crate, and the inked wards faded to nothing as the demon’s palm healed. “Dear boy-” The angel began, then swallowed, with the first flicker of hesitation that he had shown so far, before his jaw firmed. “Crowley. You should open that. It won’t hurt you now.”

The demon didn’t move. He still hadn’t blinked, although he had taken a relieved breath with the angel’s miraculous healing. “It’s fine. M’sorry.”

“Open it.”

“Don’t want to. It’s yours. I just, I dunno. I dunno.”

Aziraphale set down his mug on a table that hadn’t existed a moment prior, and stepped quietly over to the box and statuesque ex-minion of Hell. “Together then, dear boy. This is something you ought to see.”

Crowley swallowed, searching the angel’s face intensely. “What’s in, eh, what-” he stuttered.

The angel shook his head, eyes shining. “I have no idea what is in this particular box, but everything in here, or in any of these boxes, is something you deserve to see.” He patted Crowley’s hand, then waved the lid into nonexistence. Gaining confidence, the demon reached in and pulled out an absurdly huge wad of cotton, wrapped in twine. Aziraphale giggled in mild embarrassment. “It was miracled to stay intact, but I worry so.” 

Rolling his eyes, Crowley huffed and then glared at the object in his hands. The protective wrapper unknotted and fell off in fear, leaving him holding a plain gray oyster shell.

“Angel…”

“I used to have these hidden all over the world. Once I settled here, I brought all of my treasures into one place and expanded the wardrobe to hold them. I don’t really need to change clothes, so I just keep what I am wearing tidy, and so the doors needn’t be opened too often. I had hoped the password would help, but if Gabriel had sensed this, I would have had to open it regardless. Without the password, if the doors are opened, it would just show copies of what I was wearing. Gabriel loves his clothing, so I had hoped he would believe that I might be protective of mine. Principalities tend to be rather peculiar in that way, even more than myself if you can believe it.”

Aziraphale took a deep unnecessary breath, reaching out to stroke the smooth interior of the shell that the demon held. “I still remember Rome fondly. My first temptation, after a fashion. You may open any of these boxes you wish. They are all my keepsakes. My memories of us.” He looked up and met Crowley’s gaze steadily. “But we understand each other, yes? You guessed the password.”

Lacking tear ducts, snakes cannot cry.5 This fact had been crucial to maintaining Crowley’s cool image on multiple occasions, and this moment had just been added to the tally. 

It was not what he had been made for, but Aziraphale had made himself into a creature of mercy. Pretending not to notice that his dearest companion’s lip was trembling, he carefully rewrapped the ancient shell and replaced it into its crate. 

Reaching up, Aziraphale cupped the back of the demon’s head and pulled him to tuck his face safely into the crook of his neck and shoulder. His demon always felt better when hidden. He twitched a little, but successfully stifled his giggle when a forked tongue flickered out to take a sip of his scent. Crowley slumped into him, arms wrapping around as tightly as possible. “Would you like to coil in my lap, dear boy? It’s a bit early, but perhaps an evening in front of the fire while I read to you?” The demon nodded mutely. Later, perhaps, they could examine the memories and souvenirs that they had both kept. Even later, perhaps, they could consider combining them all in the same place. Perhaps a cottage by the sea.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The angel would not necessarily classify himself as the bookshop’s master. He had worked quite hard to overcome his innate Principality-derived tendencies towards possessiveness. He liked to think of them as friends, or perhaps symbiotic associates, depending on his mood. Back
> 
> 2\. Not a bedroom. Virtue is ever-vigilant. Aziraphale was extremely aware of his own failings as an angel, and did not intend to add useless sleep to the list. He had been using the space as a sitting room and was perfectly content with his bedlessness. Back
> 
> 3\. Even less often than any other bookworm on Earth, actually. With no real need to eat, sleep, or earn a living, Aziraphale was rarely required to interrupt his enjoyment of a book before its natural conclusion. Back
> 
> 4\. An awkward moment that both of them wished Crowley hadn’t seen. The angel had caught the other demon poisoning a village well. He had no affection for the other servants of the Adversary, and as such, only mild courtesy for another sentient being had delayed the smiting for a few seconds as he apologized for the inevitable discomfort. That being said, if he saw that demon again, further apologies would not be forthcoming. He was an angel, not an idiot. Back
> 
> 5\. Snakes do not have eyelids either, meaning they sleep with their eyes open. This had led to some difficult moments in the past when Aziraphale would chat until becoming deeply offended at the demon’s lack of response, then mortified when his cleared throat would startle Crowley awake. After several instances of this, Crowley typically took snake form when napping on the bookshop sofa, so that he could tuck his head under his coils as a clear signal to the angel. Back

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Keepsakes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24311074) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




End file.
